


Philip the Little Poet

by Ki_writes



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander is non-stop, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Love, awh cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 09:35:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5492369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ki_writes/pseuds/Ki_writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander is up late again working, and it seems that almost nothing will be able to get him to go to sleep. That is until a certain little voice appears in his study room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Philip the Little Poet

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've written for Hamilton. I'm thoroughly obsessed with the musical, though. I haven't written fan fiction in a very long time, so... We'll see how this goes. I hope it's enjoyable in the least. 
> 
> It's just meant to be a short, cute interaction between father and son.

A small candle on his desk scarcely illuminated the man’s exhausted face. He held a small quill pen in his hand, tapping the tip of it aimlessly against a piece of parchment. Sentence, upon sentence had been scribbled out, rewritten time and time again, never being suited to the man’s liking. Alexander Hamilton was a man who never came to a loss for words, yet on this night he couldn’t find the right ones he wanted- nay needed- to successfully draft a speech to propose to the President. 

Alexander placed his quill down on his desk, letting out a long, frustrated sigh. He couldn’t understand why now, of all times it could happen, he hit a wall of writer's block. He rubbed his temples, shaking his head slowly, while he quietly mumbled to himself. 

“Alexander?” He stopped. The voice that greeted his ears was gentle, tender with love. Turning in his chair, he found his dearest Eliza gazing back at him, a worried look in her eyes. “Are you coming to sleep soon? You need your sleep,” 

“Soon, dear,” he said faintly, pulling his glasses from his nose to rub his red eyes. “Soon,” Eliza’s mouth turned to a slight frown, but she did not protest any longer. She simply stepped forward, planting a loving kiss onto his forehead. 

Alexander could hear her delicate feet going up the stairs and the sound of their bedroom door closing. With that he picked up his quill, dipped it in fresh ink, and began scribbling more nonsensical sentences; most of which he would mark over in only a minutes time. As he tapped his temple, he found himself interrupted by the pattering of more feet down the stairs. He sighed deeply, bracing himself to protest again with Eliza that he was fine, that he would be up to bed in only a few moments. What greeted him instead was a smaller voice, still tender with love. 

“Daddy?” Alexander turned around, seeing his son Philip, standing in the doorway of the dimly lit room. 

“Why hello, Philip,” Alex cringed as he straightened his back, having been hunched over for most of the evening. “What are you doing awake still?” 

“I can not sleep.” Philip stated plainly, timidly stepping towards his drained father. “Mommy is asleep, and I don’t want to wake her,” 

Alexander smiled slightly at his son’s thoughtfulness. He knew that the boy’s mother would not mind to be woken by their sweet child. She would be more than happy to soothe the boy, rock him back to sleep, quietly singing a lullaby as his mind drifted away once more to a land of slumber and dreams.

Instead here he was, cautiously standing next to his father now, knowing he should not be up and out of bed. Yet, Alexander couldn’t find it in himself to be upset, or to make him go back up to bed. Philip was Alex’s pride and joy; the most thoughtful, and gentle boy. The two of them were definitely alike in countless ways. Even at the raw age of seven, Philip held similar facial structures that Alexander had, their noses and lips having practically the same shape. They both had perfectionist tendencies, Alexander’s being obviously more prominent. 

Alex passed Philip a sideways glance and in one swoop, picked his son up and sat him in his lap. Philip giggled, placing his hands on his father’s desk, carefully avoiding the countless pieces of paper. “Daddy, are you writing a poem?” Philip asked innocently, acting as though he were deciphering the words on the paper. Of course, Philip could not yet read.

Alexander chuckled, “No, it’s a big old, boring political paper for one of daddy’s work friends,” 

Philip scowled, shoving the paper away from him in mock-disgust. “You should write poems. Poems are way better than boring papers that you always write.” Philip looked up at his father over his shoulder, smiling. “I’m going to be a poet someday. I’ll write so many poems, everyone will talk about me!” This earned another chuckle from his father. Suddenly Philip’s face fell very serious. “Daddy?” 

“Yes?” 

“One day,” Philip pondered. “I’m even going to be a better writer than you are!” 

Alexander smirked, nodding his head. “Oh, really?” 

“Yeah, people will forget all about your papers when they read how great my poems are!” Philip clumsily held his father’s quill pen, pretending to write something on paper. “I’ll be the only Hamilton they remember in history forever and ever and ever!” 

Alexander playfully ran a hand through Philip’s hair, amused at his son’s persistence. “Oh, yes, Philip, for sure.” 

The young boy continued to talk for a few minutes, before letting out a dainty yawn, leaning into his father’s warm, comforting embrace. It took no longer than ten minutes of small, meaningless chat for Philip to fall asleep, and Alexander took the quiet moment to write down his final thoughts for the night. It must have been around ten o'clock when Alexander carefully stood, positioning Philip in his arms with skillful ease. With a candle in one hand, he made his way up to Philip’s room. He tucked the small child into his bed, softly kissing his forehead. “Goodnight, my son,” he cooed for a moment, before hushly making his way to his own bedroom.

Alexander quickly undressed, putting on his night time clothing, and crawled into bed next to his wife. Eliza stirred slightly, readjusting to rest her head on Alex’s chest. Alexander slid away, with the warmth of his wife against him, into a land of slumber. He did so only with a prideful smile on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm hesitant to post this. I don't love it, but I think it's okay for my first time back. I'm rusty. Hah! I do hope you enjoyed! Thank you for giving it a read if you did. Until the next time! 
> 
> -Ki.


End file.
